


The First of Many

by Carmailo



Series: Voltron One Shots [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Not shance specifically but can be read as such, so... warning: shaladin implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmailo/pseuds/Carmailo
Summary: In the heat of battle, most every action can be justified as defense.





	The First of Many

The first time he witnesses death, he is not prepared. 

But how can one be prepared for the monstrosity that is death in violence, death in cold blood?

When the soldier falls on Lance, slain by his own hand in sudden fear, he falls with it. His mouth hangs agape in shock, and his chest fills with explosive dread, like tiny, clawed fingers, scraping through his ribs.

The noise of battle around Lance fades into dull, fuzz covered noise, as the face of the fallen alien comes into full view. His purple fur shifts in the wind of the planet they fight on, his eyes wide in shock, but draining of light as his blood ceases pumping through his body.

“Lance!” Shiro’s sharp voice cuts into the paladin’s fear, prompting him to shift the dying body off himself and get to his feet. “Are you alright?”

He turns to Shiro, his face stricken. “Look at me,” the black paladin commands, “look at me.”

Lance’s eyes wander up to Shiro’s, awaiting further instruction. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay. I need you to listen carefully. Focus on these words and don’t think too much of anything else.” the team’s leader relays instructions to Lance, who nods firmly and takes off running to get to where he needs to be.

He doesn’t think of that soldier, not until he’s ripping off his helmet and dropping it to the ground with an empty _thunk_.

The sound reminds him of the sound the Galra had made as the breath was stolen from his lungs.

_Hold it together. Just a little bit longer._

So he does. Lance pushes the empty eyes of the soldier from his mind, the heavy weight of his body lifted with the blue chestplate that lands on the ground with his other armour. He is reminded when he sees the blood on his hands, having stained his skin through ripped gloves.

So he wrings his hands under the tap until the water runs clear and his skin is flushed pink.

He does not meet his own eyes in the mirror, because he knows that if he does, he will see a killer, and the screams in his throat will finally escape.

When Lance sits down to dinner that day - or maybe it’s lunch, or even breakfast, he can’t tell anymore - he stares at the lump of green mush piled on his plate. While his stomach feels empty, he cannot find the appetite to feed himself. And so his pile goes from a mess to a neatly organized circle, while everyone else’s disappears.

Everyone notices when Lance’s normal banter doesn’t take up most of the meal, but they draw it to fatigue and don’t push. Even Shiro.

It’s later, when he goes to tend to his armor with the rest of the paladins, that the murder comes to light.

His shin guards are covered in grime, the blue pieces now closer to purple. And the rest of the suit… covered in blood. Coated in the now-dried substance and dusted over with the dirt and sand that defined the planet they had fought on.

His breath hitches, stops before coming back shallow, now making his chest rise and fall in quick succession.

“Lance?”

The paladin snaps to face his teammate, clutching a white chestplate emblazoned with the symbol of their team, only in red. Keith looks taken aback at the wide eyes and fear-stricken expression that stares back at him. “Whoa- Lance, are you- are you okay?”

“I- no- I just- what-” the paladin fumbles over his words, hands tightening on the aggressively-stained armour.

“Lance, look at me.” his eyes shift to Shiro’s face, slow in anxious realization.

Their leader seems at a loss for words, and Lance seizes the opportunity. “I… I killed him.” his wide eyes blink once, moving away from Shiro’s face. “With my own two hands…” his irises find his hands, now outstretched, chestplate discarded on his lap, “I took a life.”

He starts laughing. “I swore- I told my nephew- _I wasn’t going to kill anybody if I ever went to space_ \- I told a five year-old that-” Lance hiccups, a sob working it’s way up his throat, “ _I killed someone_.” he repeats, voice rising in volume.

“ _I_ killed someone!” he says, bordering on a shout.

And then once more. And again, the phrase turning into a bittersweet mantra. Suddenly his voice is replaced with one, several octaves above his own, screaming about the blood- oh, god, the _blood!_ It’s still on his hands, can’t anyone see? It’s there, he swears it is! And why are they touching him? Stay away, “I’ll kill you, too! Stay _away!_ ”

He is dragged, kicking and screaming, by both Shiro and Keith, to the infirmary, because the skin around his knuckles has split where he’s punched the ground repeatedly. And the split on his head- how did they miss it before? Get that patched up, Coran, quickly.

Lance, we need you to stop moving. Hold still. Hold still!

“ _NO!_ ” he screams back, “LET ME _GO!_ ”

“Calm down!”

“Keith, you should leave.”

“But-”

“ _Go._ ”

“Lance, this’ll sting.”

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

“I think we should sedate him-”

“Are you sure-?”

“Trust me, Coran. It’s all that’ll calm him down.”

“SHIRO, STOP- WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!”

“I’ll hold him down-”

“ _HIJO DE PUTA-_ ” his curses fall away with a scream. “WHAT THE FUCK!” he yells.

“Sorry, Lance.” Lance’s hands slap against Shiro’s forearms, as far as he can reach, before his strength suddenly diminishes and he’s left clutching a metal prosthetic as consciousness fades.

* * *

When he wakes, stumbling out of a cryo-pod, he is greeted by only Shiro, who regards him with a careful sorrow, one that weeps for the loss of innocence. “I’m sorry,” the cadet begins, feeling where he falls short even more. “I didn’t- fuck, I knew I was going to end up killing someone eventually, I just didn’t expect it to be so soon-” his words fall away with the warm embrace Shiro gives him, shushing him. There are no promises of _‘it’s fine, you’re fine’_ or _‘it’s not your fault, everything’s okay,’_ because who understands better than the man who’d had to fight for his life by every means possible?

Because it is not okay.

It is not okay, when the blood of another, fighting for their side as fiercely as you fight for your own, stains your fingers.

“Let’s see the damage, then.” Shiro urges, pulling away to hold Lance by the shoulders.

Gentle, he guides him to the exam table and seats him down, getting to work immediately, moving aside tufts of chocolate-brown hair to examine the gash there. He pats at it with an antiseptic pad, careful not to linger too long and spare Lance any extra hurt. Shiro turns his back to the boy to rummage through the castle’s first-aid supplies.

“Have you ever seen the life drain from someone’s eyes, Shiro?” Lance asks, small and quiet.

The black paladin squeezes his eyes shut, freezing. “Yes,” he forces out.

“How many times?”

“I’ve… lost count.”

“Does it get any easier?”

He doesn’t have it in his heart to lie. “...No.”

“Will I forget?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Remember that it’s not yours, either.” Shiro turns back to Lance, patching up the injury.

He takes Lance’s hand next, then, examining the fresh cuts. “You ought to be more careful with yourself.”

“...yeah,” he says absently, eyes trained on the far wall.

“Hey,” Shiro says, softly demanding attention. Lance turns to him. “You’re not alone. I know what it’s like. And you’ll be stronger for it.”

“Stronger for taking a life?” Lance’s face is twisted in exhausted grief.

“ _Stronger,_ ” Shiro moves away to grab more gauze, “for knowing the weight of a life besides your own. Stronger,” Shiro unscrews the lid of a salve, “for knowing that it’s a finality, and being able to recognize that.”

“Irreversible?” Lance asks.

“Irreversible.” Shiro confirms, nodding for emphasis.

“Huh,” Lance says, like it’s a profound concept. “It’s a finality. That I should always recognize.”

“Does that make sense?” Shiro asks.

“Sort of. You mean that it’s not, like… a party trick, or something.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Shiro nods again, now taping up the gauze and moving to clear up the mess they’d made. “I feel bad though,” he admits.

“Why?” Lance stands from the table, stretching his wrist by rotating it in circles.

“I can’t really say anything else to ease what you’re feeling.”

“That’s okay. You helped.” Lance says, pulling his jacket. He zips it up to his chin, something he rarely does, unless distressed.

“Are you going to be okay?” Shiro asks.

“I don’t know,” Lance admits.

“That’s okay,” Shiro says, clapping Lance on the back. “I’ll stay with you until you feel better.”

“Shiro?” Lance asks, later, in his pyjamas now.

“Yes?” Shiro asks, looking up from his perch on the edge of the bed.

“Thanks,” Lance says.

He smiles in response.

**Author's Note:**

> [there will likely be a part two (so a second chapter)]  
> pissed cause i dont have netflix and have to wait to illegally stream season 3 whenever i have time tomorrow -^-  
> go say hi to me on tumblr or insta and we can scream together about whatever you want (@carmailo in both places)
> 
> i saw a tumblr post (was it reposted to pinterest? i can't recall) about lance having to kill someone and i just
> 
> i put a lot of effort into this
> 
> CAN BE READ AS SHANCE, RELATIONSHIP REMAINS UNESTABLISHED AS ROMANTIC, SO CAN ALSO BE READ PLATONICALLY
> 
> by e
> 
> (((i had a much longer note but it was deleted when my laptop froze up...)))


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